


Red Handed

by crowdedangels



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdedangels/pseuds/crowdedangels
Summary: A Philadelphia Cheesesteak from Pat’s King of Steaks was the catalyst to the spiralling tailspin of a clusterfuck that was Vic Moretti’s life.





	Red Handed

**Author's Note:**

> On my third rewatch of the series and maybe I read too much into the lingering shot of blood on Sean's thumb from the rose after Vic tells him 'they' found her. And added it to the fact she only started to use the Flyers mug after his first episode (even though, yes, they would be available almost everywhere). 
> 
> Idk. My brain went to a place and convinced me so here, see what you think ;)
> 
> Thanks to my capslocky enabler, Tricki

Long roll, not too fluffy, not too hard; thinly sliced ribeye steak, American cheese, onions and extra peppers. A Philadelphia Cheesesteak from Pat’s King of Steaks was the catalyst to the spiralling tailspin of a clusterfuck that was Vic Moretti’s life.

 

And she would never know.

 

She wouldn’t know the irony of Sean pricking his finger on a rose, feeling guilty that somebody else had treated his wife to flowers. She would have fallen about laughing - one day - if she’d known that the blood on his hands as she told him ‘they’ had found her might as well have been hers too. Her child’s. Walt’s. Everyone’s in her fucking life.

 

Sean never told her that Newett Energy had sent him back to Philly. He went out to the New Jersey site for a week-  had a few meetings with the managers there, did a couple of checks on the systems, got wined-and-dined as a visiting higher-up usually did. When they said they needed him to check into the Philly branch on the way back, how could he really have said no? He hadn’t told them the real reason he applied for the transfer and who the fuck would believe him if he said it now - _uh, sorry Mitch, no can do. My wife had to flee Philly for her life and mental wellbeing so I can’t really betray her by showing my face back there. Maybe Steve can go._

 

God, it was good to be back in Philly though. The East Coast. The old faces and old haunts and smell of sizzling in the air. He was the returning giant, the prodigal son who moved up the seemingly unmovable chain. Yeah, he had to leave the city and the state to do it, but have you seen his wife? Anyone would do it in a heartbeat.

 

So, old faces lead to old times. Forgotten memories, legendary stories and few more beers than he probably should have before his flight. And what trip to Philly would be complete without a trip to Pat’s for a cheesesteak?

 

A few too many Coors Light and still laughing it up with an old buddy, it seemed second nature to put his business card into the jar, promising one lucky winner a month’s worth of cheesesteaks that no one ever seemed to win.

 

Sean didn’t see Ed Gorski in the back booth, watching his every move and sliding the business card from the jar when he returned his tray.

 

Wyoming. _Gotcha._

 

No, Vic would never know the nightmares, the second guessing, the blame she put on herself for having been found had nothing to do with her. Cutting herself off from her family, her friends, the only city she knew had not been in vain because of something she had done. She was just starting to feel safe, to maybe even enjoy the mundane and ridiculous state and cases she worked, possibly even consider herself to have friends out here. And the complete 180 degrees it turned on a dime wasn't on her.

 

It was on Sean.

 

Maybe she wouldn’t have laughed. Maybe she would have flown out to Australia just to chew him out, say all the things she swallowed down and didn’t bother to say when he had cowardly got Walt to serve the divorce papers.

 

Maybe she would have scoffed at Gorski’s ‘I used to be a cop’ line, like finding her had been the product of good ol’ fashioned police work.

 

Maybe her Dad bringing Pat’s Steaks out like a nostalgic fix-all would have made her laugh till she cried at the absurd bookending of the whole period.

 

Maybe, now, with her head on Walt’s shoulder, her fingers absently playing with his while he slept, his tee shirt bunching around her hips as they lazed away a rainy sunday, maybe she wouldn’t have given it a further thought. It was the past. A painful chapter in the first volume of her life, the second of which she was blissfully enjoying.

  
  


 


End file.
